


Waking Dream

by fandumbandflummery



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Republic Commando Series - Karen Traviss, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Asexual Character, Jango just wants to sleep dammit, M/M, Mandalorian, Masturbation, One-Sided Attraction, Other, Walon Vau has some issues to work out re:Jango
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-18 01:36:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11863923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandumbandflummery/pseuds/fandumbandflummery
Summary: Of course, simply because Jango had never professed any interest in sex did not mean he didn't know and appreciate the therapeutic effect of a self-administered orgasm once in a while. Particularly when one was having trouble sleeping.





	Waking Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently people want more Jango/Walon. And I am happy to oblige, with a side-order relaxturbation and voyeurism and a completely pretentious title! 
> 
> Unbeta'd, possibly full of grammatical errors that I will correct later.

It _had_ to be past midnight, _shab'la_ hard to tell it might be on a planet that seemed permanently shrouded in a stormy twilight. Regardless, the fact remained that despite the late hour, there was light streaming into Walon's room.

He opened one eye, carefully and slowly. Experience had taught him that murderers might be so inept as to assume even a sleeping Mandalorian was an easy target, but that was no reason to blow the cover of being asleep and buy time to catch the hut'uun off guard.

He glanced to the corner where Mirdalan remained peacefully asleep, drooling, twitching, and snapping at imaginary nunas. Clearly, the threat couldn't have been that great if the strill hadn't woken up to get first dibs on the fight. And it was definitely not an assassin, either of the flesh-and-blood or bolts-and-circuits varieties. He raised his head up a little, blinking blearily at the source of the light plucking at his eyelids - and came face-to-face with a dimly-lit bedroom seemingly appearing out of a portal in the wall.

Walon squinted at the nonsensical image, before his sleep-addled brain managed to clear up enough to understand.

Kaminoans had some damn strange ideas about communications technology. Anything of theirs that wasn't voice-only wasn't the trusty blue hologram used by of the vast majority of the galaxy. Instead they used screens, sleek, elegant, completely baffling to practical-minded Mandalorians. In that way, the devices were not at all unlike their creators. Walon hadn't been able to parse just how the things got their audio-visual feed - some mad-brained configuration of micro-cameras and audio sensors hidden throughout the seams of the walls, it seemed. Luckily, one of Skirata's pets had figured out how to make the network between the trainers' apartments completely self-contained and secure from the rest of the facility's, so now they at least now they weren't being watched by the bloody longnecks in their sleep. Probably.

Even then, the screens had seemed insidious and invasive, even when 'off'. They stared out like the huge black eyes of the Kaminoans themselves at seemingly everywhere in the trainers' quarters; including in his own tiny room, from the bed to his one table to the fucking window. Apparently most longneck architecture intended for use of the 'lower castes' wasn't much on privacy beyond a 'fresher door that shut, but did not lock.

Walon's screen, however; indicated that the person who had forgotten to switch their screen off had pulled a much, much cushier pad than the rest of the _cuy'val dar_. This bedroom was clearly walled off from the rest of the suite, and he could just see a desk covered in data pads and a small lamp visible in one corner by the door.

At last it showed him the room's occupant re-emerge from an off-screen 'fresher, damp-haired, unarmored in his sleeping clothes, and looking very, very tired.

Jango Fett.

The memory of the day's earlier activity stirred in his sluggish brain.

There had been an over-screen conference between Fett, Walon, and a number of other trainers earlier, concerning a number of semi-pressing issues facing the project. At the time, it had been easier than gathering in person, with how remotely some were housed from each other at various points across the vast complex.

It had gone about as well as it possibly could. Meaning, it had been only minutes before addressing problems had turned into a full on shouting match between the various rivals within the _cuy'val dar_. 

Dred and his commandos were accused of going too far in their open disdain for the pilots under Fenn Rau's tutelage and for the young Protector himself, and that he had every right to demand reparations for his damaged Fang warship and for severe punishment to be dealt to whoever it was had broken one potential flyer's hands. Others repeatedly insisted that Walon's own charges were living up to expectations of commando-class troopers and therefore did not need his _demagol'ka_ methodology of motivating them. Eventually it degenerated into a shouting match about how so and so was a pathetic excuse and his troopers would all be _hut'uuns_ the day they strode into battle, how Skirata's little family was fast morphing into something more like a private mercenary force, how Bralor was a moron, Vau was a sadist, and on and on. In the interest of diffusing tension, Jango had ordered everyone to get the fuck off the feed and get some useful karkin' work done for a change.

The 'friendly chat' had terminated en masse not long after that.

Walon had left to cool his head outside quite literally, running the outer causeways in the freezing winter rain and damned the stuffed nose he got out of it. Setting Mirdalan loose on some Kaminoans who were not quite so fleet of foot as the rest had helped improve his mood, and that of a few trainers who hadn't been there for the screen blowout. Afterwards, he'd "surprised" the cadets with an inspection of their endurance, watching from the mobile observation deck as the gangly, half-grown lads ran the circuit of the cloning facility with Mird snapping at their heels. He'd had to make a swift descent to the racecourse's level, however, when the strill latched onto neck of one di'kut who'd fallen after tripping over his own foot rounding a corner. Wounds aside, he'd live, and the scars would learn him well to watch his damn footing next time. Feeling rather put through his paces himself at that point, he'd called a medic and a stretcher for the injured cadet and dismissed the rest, then marched back to his quarters and dropped unconscious onto his bed, barely moments after removing his armour.

Walon now flicked his eyes to the sidebar displayed beside the visual feed of the screen, and saw that there were no others on but his and Jango's. Apparently everyone had found and remembered to hit the tiny karkin' button that switched the damn things off but him and the _Mand'alor_.

He'd had no idea where Jango had gone after the breakdown, but wagered that he'd spent the rest of the day with Boba, who was no doubt long put to bed and fast asleep. It seemed the education and amusement of an intelligent but headstrong and already downright suicidally-brave boy was a less daunting prospect than trying to keep the _cuy'val dar_ in order for the time being. He admired that restraint, really. It took real strength in a man not to reach out and crack together the skulls of the likes of Skirata or Preist or even that wet-ear Rau after five minutes of being in a room with them.

Still, there was very little of either that cold, steadfast professional or the majestic, authoritative chieftain in the person he saw on the screen now. Jango Fett, at the moment, was just a very tired and fed-up man in need of eight hours min of sack time.

Walon felt a twinge of something very much like sympathy for Jango, as he watched him turn over and over again on the bed, seemingly unable to get comfortable or to relax for longer than a minute at a stretch.

The man worked hard, fought well, and had suffered things that would have outright killed weaker men - although said things meant that he was now somewhat more comfortable sleeping in dim light rather than pure blackness. That only stoked the sympathetic feeling further. For all Walon had long stopped believing in any kind of cosmic justice, it seemed entirely unfair that this man of all men couldn't even get to sleep easily, after all he'd been through.

On-screen, Jango kicked off the sheets with a grunt of frustration, and lay there splayed like a merlie carcass on a butcher's block, as he heaved a sigh of exhaust and frustration.

Watching this somehow felt…intrusive. At the very least Walon thought he should break his silence and offer company or a bottle of contraband booze to his chieftain- but any further thoughts of charity were derailed as Jango suddenly sat up on his arms with a huff, and gave a look towards the doorway off-screen.

Walon frowned, as Jango hit the convenient wall-panel that locked the bedroom off from the rest of the suite. Unless he was taking a top-secret call, or was just sure of there being no Boba-related emergencies, Jango would never lock his bedroom door. There was too much of the instinct to be there for his men, and for his son, not to mention the potential deathtrap of being trapped in the small space in the event that the rest of his suite caught fire or flooded...

His sleep-muddled mind was still pondering the why and what of it all as Jango removed his shirt and stretched, letting out a satisfied noise as his spine cracked, before dropping flat on his back with a happier sigh. Propping one arm behind his head, he slowly ran the other down the length of his body, trailing his fingers lightly up and down the narrow trail of dark hair that vanished under the low waistband of his pants. After a few moments of teasing he pressed the heel of his hand firmly over his crotch. The sleep pants were loose, soft things, and it was not long before the fabric tented obviously over his swiftly-stiffening cock. Palming himself through the material, Jango bit his bottom lip and rolled his hips up into the contact, letting his eyes slip shut. 

Walon's own eyes widened as it finally dawned on him.

Of course, simply because Jango had never professed any interest in sex did not mean he didn't know and appreciate the therapeutic effect of a self-administered orgasm once in a while. Particularly when one was having trouble sleeping.

Walon clenched his jaw and tried to ignore the simultaneous rushes of blood up to his face and down between his legs. This was wrong. Very wrong. Not the act of masturbating, but watching someone do it when they were unaware. But somehow making the motion to hit the 'off' button on his screen felt as impossible as if his arm had been frozen in carbonite. He couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from the sight, and he clenched his jaw again, grinding his teeth in disgust at his own lechery.

…and okay, he'd done a lot of wild, lecherous things in his youth, early in his days as a Mando'ade, debauched and disgusting and depraved and which would make his birth-father spin in his cold, damp tomb, but he drew the line at watching the mand'alor jack off while unaware of-

"Ah…"

The sound of Jango's voice as he gave himself a firm squeeze was what made him stop before he'd even managed to work his nearest hand even far out from under the pillow. It sounded so…vulnerable. But Jango was not someone who could be thought of as vulnerable on the worst of days, and Walon had a feeling that he would not be making the slightest noise if he did not feel 100% secure.

He felt his face flush and his cock twitch at the thought.

For all that this was hotter than the surface of Mustafar, it also sent a shiver of worry as well as arousal down Walon's spine. If *he* could hear a soft gasp like that, there was no doubt that the rustle of the cheap sheets on his end would be picked up by the screen's hidden mics, and alert Jango to his (admittedly accidental) transgression. He now cursed the fact that he'd fallen asleep on his stomach, with his hands trapped under a pillow by his own damn head.

Falling asleep again was out of the question, not with the…event currently in progress, coupled with the fact that his cock had taken a notice of the situation and was not about to lose interest any time soon. Walon mentally sighed in defeat. At the very least, he would be discreet about this. Letting his head drop down face-first into the pillow to muffle any potential sounds of his that might escape, he watched through half-lidded eyes.

On-screen, Jango continued to palm himself, getting worked up more and more, the outline of his erection now clearly visible through the soft, thin fabric. Walon forced himself to look elsewhere. He was no prude but somehow he didn't feel ready to look at…that, quite yet. Instead, he ended up raking his eyes over the rest of other man's body, as he arched into his own touch.  
He'd seen Jango without most of his armour on, even without underclothes on a few times, but that had been over thirty years ago, when the Mand'alor was practically still a boy, scarless and smooth-faced. Now that boy's body had filled out, all hard angles and lean muscles that flexed and stretched the patterns of scars and old wounds arcing across rich bronze skin.

He bit hard into the pillow as he saw Jango's head tip back on a soft moan, exposing his throat and showing off the sharp angle of his jaw and the sinews of his neck, and he would deny forever that he imagined the damp pillow was that delicious, tender-looking skin, so rarely seen and so often covered by their armour.

Jango shifted a little more where he lay, reluctantly letting go of his cock through the fabric and reaching for the waistband of his pants. With a tug he pulled them down, finally freeing his erection from its confines. Rather crudely he spat into his hand, and gave another soft moan as he took a hold of his cock and stroked it firmly, spreading the slickness around.

Walon's own cock gave another eager twitch where it pressed against the mattress, now achingly hard. There weren't many cocks in the galaxy that he would ever describe as 'pretty', but he was having a hell of a time thinking of any other way to describe Jango's thick, gently curved prick. Somehow the sight was only improved by Jango's strong, sinewy hand pumping up and down the shaft, as his work-callused fingers dragged over thin, sensitive skin. Even so, his pace was steady, not frantic; but also without any tease or prolonging of the agony.

Which made sense - he was jacking off simply for the endorphin high, not to indulge some fantasy or put on a show for lecherous watchers. Walon pushed the thought as to just what "Jango putting on a show" would entail to the back of his mind almost as soon as it was formed.

The hand that was previously tucked behind Jango's head now tangled in his hair, then trailed down his neck to to brush over his chest, thumbing at one dark nipple, then the other. He let out a grunt as he gently pinched one and his cock visibly twitched, the first white beads of precome dripping from his slit. Rubbing the palm of his free hand over the tip of his cock, he moaned quietly as he began to massage the head through his foreskin, smearing the sticky fluid over the sensitive tip before trailing it down the shaft, slicking the way for his other hand as he kept up the steady pace of strokes.

Unconsciously, Walon started thrusting shallowly against the mattress in time with Jango's hand. He was forgetting all about his earlier misgivings. None of it seemed to matter now to his sex-clouded brain - the fact that Jango did not care about sex and probably never wanted anyone to think of him in a purely sexual way, that he was the Mand'alor, how he was completely violating the man's privacy and that if he realized what was happening and felt like carving Walon's kad off and using it as bait for fish, he'd damn well deserve it.

Maybe it was the filthy wrongness of the act that was turning him on so much. Or maybe it was the result of his deep admiration for the man that had somehow only grown stronger in his decades-long absence from Jango's life. Or maybe he was just acting like anyone would, given the circumstances of watching a good-looking man getting himself off.

Regardless of the whys, all that ran through his head now were the most obscene thoughts about the gorgeous, untouchable man beyond the screen.

How would feel ito stroke Jango's cock with *his* hand, for example. Under the pillow, his hand clenched around nothing, as he imagined taking a hold of that thick, gorgeous cock and wringing more of those soft noises from Jango's throat. Or Jango touching *his* cock - how would he react to the 'adornments' he'd given it in his debauched youth? Kriff, he'd probably reach down and start feeling them out one by one out of pure curiosity, turning each metal stud until he hit the ring just under the head. He'd probably have fun playing with that, too. Or he'd just rut the sensitive underside of his cock against the deliciously textured metal, as Walon closed his hand around both their cocks as Jango explored more exotic ways and less lonesome ways to 'relax'…

Walon re-focused his bleary eyes on the screen. Jango now had switched to using both hands on his cock, occasionally dropping one lower to fondle his balls, now drawn up tight against his body. He was definitely getting closer to his peak now, and had no interest in staving off the inevitable. He'd planted his feet flat on the bed to give him leverage enough to thrust, making the muscles on his stomach ripple and flex as he fucked steadily into his slicked fists. His breathing had become ragged, and a faint sheen of sweat had broken out across his body, the lights of the room gilding each curve of muscle and stand-out sinew with a soft golden cast.

Walon knew he would never, ever be able to scrub that gorgeous image from his darkest subconscious even if he tried.

Jango suddenly arched up hard, giving himself a few more firm strokes before he came with a quiet, shuddering moan, striping his stomach and hands with white streaks of come. He thrust a few more times, lazily, before falling back down to the mattress with a thump.

He lay there for a few moments, basking in the rush of endorphins, letting it make him drowsy and relaxed in a way he hadn't felt before. He sluggishly patted the bed off to his side, and eventually picked up the shirt he'd doffed earlier. After he used it to clean up the mess, he flung it it in the general direction of an unseen laundry chute before sprawling on the bed once more with a satisfied, happy sigh.

Walon now tried so desperately not to move, despite being harder than he'd been in years and a hair's breadth away from coming. He held his breath and prayed that Jango would now roll over and be snoring in no time and would leave him in peace to finish and forget about this whole mess.

He turned his head, and dark, half-lidded eyes flickered towards the bottom corner of the screen. Walon's blood ran cold - there was no question of what had caught Jango's gaze. His heart pounded in his ears as much as his cock pounded between his legs as he watched Jango prop himself up on one elbow and squint. Strangely, he just gave a shrug, and reached out towards the invisible control panel to switch his screen off.

Suddenly he stopped.He looked directly into the screen, and somehow locked eyes with Walon in the pitch-dark room.

Jango gave a lazy, satisfied smirk.

Walon froze, and even forgot how to breathe for a moment.

"Go to sleep, Vau."

Walon buried his face into the pillow, biting it to cover his pathetic whine as he came practically untouched, like a kriffing teenager. He shuddered as the sparking rush of pleasure that shot down his spine and out through his cock, spurting up his belly and making a complete mess of the mattress.

When he finally looked up, the screen was black once more.

Shifting a little where he lay, Walon made a face at the feeling of his stomach smearing the wet, sticky mess even more underneath his body. Once more he dropped his head down to the pillow with a defeated groan. From the corner, Mird stirred a little in her sleep, growling at some imaginary prey before resuming her normal snorting breaths.

Walon glared at the peacefully-sleeping strill just for the sake of something to glare at, and scrubbed his numb hands down his face. Oh, he was definitely going to have another talk with Jango tomorrow.

And definitely not over a kriffin' screen.


End file.
